


Midnight Suns

by Artemis_Crimson



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Ft Hawthorne and The Guardian in the background, Is this romance? I think this is romance but I'm beginning to realize that I write it weird, Self-Discovery, The Farm (Destiny), The Red War (Destiny)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Crimson/pseuds/Artemis_Crimson
Summary: Pyrite-50 belongs toHammieand Orei is mine!
Relationships: Female Guardian/Female Guardian (Destiny), Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Midnight Suns

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pyrite-50: Quiet Moments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21334462) by [HammieSlice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HammieSlice/pseuds/HammieSlice). 



She’s awe inspiring at her best, even now. It’s humbling to know she’s never known Pyrite at her pinnacle. At her worst she’s still more fearsome than most. It’s humbling to know she lets Oreikhalkos, for all her faults walk besides her. It’s crude to divide them into the small difference of subspecies, everyone here is part of humanity. But Pyrite still patrols tireless and lightless. A stalwart guardian even though the light finds its home in them no more-   
It is not an easy thing to be weak.  
She envies the human resilience, their home in this small mortal resistance. The drive to fight for a world they know is their home. She envies the exo dedication, feels bad that she wishes she was made for war.

Oreikhalkos helps drag a plow, the beasts of burden usually relegated to such things dead and eaten by displaced fallen and war beasts run rogue. She drags it with a team of two more former titans, one always swapping out. A warlock still wearing full regalia, battered to show metal hide and wire pulls another one on their own all day. They give their share of rations to fleeing civilians who find their way here.  
They watch the shard, like every other guardian except for Oreikhalkos. She can’t bear to look, so she lowers her head and stares at the dusty churned earth instead.

Pyrite returns from her perimeter patrols, the older guardians usually take them. Ones with uncanny aim and tricks anyone could learn in theory, if only you had decades of unyielding time with which to practice. There’s been no casualties from their side and Oreikhalkos despite the clear danger doesn’t ever fear for her safety. She’ll return. Oreikhalkos just wishes she could fight by her side.

She hauls water to the fields. Harvests what grows. Pulls the plow. She feeds the lost, the weary, the workers.  
She wishes they had enough ammunition so she might practice. She’s never considered herself a fighter, in a grim failing of duty but the longer this hiding stretches the more she itches to sharpen herself and to do something.  
The more the phantom feeling of a trigger bolt pull aim fire slick metal glide grows under the skin of her palms.  
She wants to hold Pyrite’s hand, she wants to fight by her side.  
She learns how to harvest crops and build a barn instead.

That Guardian comes to the farm, infamous for stories the newly lightless care not to tell. The Ghost networks fills with rumours of the journey. Suraya herself brought the pair of them here, her falcon finding them three long months after the fall. The whole time they’d been hunted and only through a lucky scouting mission and Lewis getting distracted had they found the farm at all. That guardian didn’t even know about the refugees.  
The story told is this; Gaul threw them from his ship to the burning city below. After a vision of the shard, (from the Traveler itself they claim) they’d awoken in crater made from the impact. They found their ghost who had stayed, looking for them for days and then started walking to it. The pair thanks everyone for the generous hospitality of an hour's rest, and a set of cloth robes that won’t stand up to a particularly aggressive briar patch. They inspect the rifle they’re given in the same sharp movements she’s seen a thousand times. The ones ingrained in Pyrite, the ones Banshee ran through whenever she brought him parts and bought a new gun, she'd even the livewire hunter vanguard had succumb to it. They set off walking for the shard with nothing else. They come back a maelström of light.

Pyrite still patrols, Oreikhalkos still farms but it’s like the moon has risen on a black, starless night.   
She gathers the courage to invite her to stay in the same quarters, a shipping container she’d hauled back on a day off. That Guardian takes a jump ship and leaves. They send back the masses and their leaders, and the war seems like it might move on and end one day at last. It’s routine in the change until the call for a final assault rings. Everyone is asked to go, every Guardian and civilian who can hold a gun. There’s no shame in staying behind says a titan, stalwart and making a kinder second speech to the rallying cries of before. It’s our duty to protect those who can not for whatever reason fight. He says this and then he says be brave.

Oreikhalkos is not brave but Pyrite is, Pyrite who is brilliant and funny and gave her a nickname and who’s hand she held.  
She’s a coward but she finds the quartermaster and squares her shoulders through it. She’s a coward and terrified of dying, of pain, of never seeing her again. She shakes the whole way to the city and Pyrite’s steady shoulder against her own is the only anchor. The shine of her armour is her only beacon when their team mounts their assault. She fires again and again into the mass of faceless giants desperate and out of her depth. When her bullets run out she can’t retreat, there's a path to safety, to cover she can see right there. And she’s strong and fast and only slightly battered but leaving the fray for a second is unbearable because Pyrite is here fighting and Oreikhalkos is never letting anything happen to her.   
She doesn’t care that Pyrite is a better fighter or that she’s supposed to love the city above all else, her calling is to defend.  
Light washes over the city in a dreadful chill and another unit of phalanx run from another wave of drop pods into another hail of gunfire. Whoops of joy, manic laughter ring clear until they are drowned out under crackles of power.  
She can’t remember feeling like this before, like an oath to something greater guides her now she grips the sun one handed and swings it.  
Orei blazes, radiant, dancing her way across the distance between her and Pyrite where she is ripping reality in two. They’ll get better in time, learn each other's favoured strategy's and in hindsight this is not the perfect coordination it feels. In the moment though they stand back to back, invincible.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally gonna be the flavour text for a fan exotic but it kept growing so *finger guns* have a fic


End file.
